fflljipB unh Wl^ttBinma 



V 



vv OF 

c r s e an 

- BY 



d P 



rose 



O. T. DOZIER, M.D., author of 

FoiLles of Fancy and RKymes of {[le Times, Poems 
Patriotic, A Galaxy of Southern Heroes, etc. • • • 

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA 




DECEMBER 

19 16 



FROM THE PRESS OF THE 

DISPATCH PRI NTI NG COM PANY 

BIRMINGHAM, AL.A. 



A 



."b 



<cP' 






COPYRIGHT, 1916 

By o. t. dozier, m. d. 



PUai.lSHED IN DECEMBER, 1916 



DEC 26 i9iS..-'^ 

©CI.A448574 



'h-f 




oi^ 




Contents 



■ 1 A Sermonette 7 

. 2 Uncle Hillbilly's Wish for Resurrection Day 7 

3 Tribute to Gen. Robert E. Lee 12 

4 Dixie 14 

5 In Nature Thoughts of God Abide 19 

6 A Hundred Years From Now 20 

7 Home 22 

-S Ruminations of An Old Reb 25 

9 Tolerance 32 

10 The Light of the World 34 

11 Since You Went Away 37 

12 The Golden Hour 39 

13 Rural Optimism 41 

14 Love ._ 43 

15 Our Public School 45 

16 Tribute to Admiral Raphael Semmes 47 

17 .Christmas in the Country 49 

18 The Nobility of Labor 53 

19 Dreamings of the Past 57 

20 To One Over the Seas 59 

21 The Spirit of Pride 62 

22 Lines for Confederate Memorial Day 63 

23 The Name of Mother 67 

24 Reachers and Creatures 69 

25 The Last of All His Comrades to Fall 76 



Dedication 



7aO my most charitable critics in the past, my warm- 
est personal friends, I most respectfully dedicate 
this little hatch of Chips and Whetstones, trusting that 
their harshest criticism will at least he as generous as that 
of the old farmer, who on seeing his little pet hull attack 
an on-rushing locomotive, said: "/ admire his pluck, 
hut darn his judgments 



Preface 

Ny/ Y APOLOGY for presenting this brochure of verse 
and prose is that it is the least of many sins 
of which I have heretofore been guilty, and in as 
much as I deny any malice, I trust to the leniency of 
the public, that my transgression may be regarded as 
only a misdemeanor and not a capital offense. 



jFi Scrmonette 

He who has some virtue in an outcast found, 
Or stooping, bent to heal a plebeian's wound, 
Or halting selfish work, has stopped to dry 
The tears from some poor orphan's eye. 
Hath preached a nobler, greater sermon then 
Than ever yet has come from tongue or pen. 



Uncle l)nibilly'$ lUisb Tor Resurrection Day 

In the mom of resurrection 

When old Gabriel toots his lute, 
And them that's fated downwards 

Prepare to shoot the shute, 
And them that's destined upward 

To mansions in the sky 
Begin to hump and hustle 

And spread their wings to fly, 
I want the special pleasure — 

If such pleasure be allowed — 
To be the fust to git up thar. 

And to stand upon a cloud, 
To watch the big procession 

As it marches through the^ gate, 
For my comrades all will be in line 

And be coming soon or late: 
First, methinks, I'd see my comrades 

Of good old Company A 
Come swooping up to enter, 

With their passports all O. K. 



My Captain and my Colonel 

I know I'd recognize 
As soon as they should come in range 

Of my old longing eyes; 
And I'll bet Old Pete a thousand— 

If to bet he's not afraid — 
Not a man will thar be absent 

From all my old Brigade. 
I know I'd see Joe Johnston, 

Old Bragg and General Hood, 
Who faced the storms of battle 

And swam through seas of blood; 
With Joe Wheeler and Pat Cleburne, 

John Morgan, Polk and Price, 
To Peter give the countersign, 

And go thro' in a trice. 
Brave old Breckinridge and Faulkner, 

Kirby Smith and Old Hardee; 
General Forrest and Old Bushrod 

And many more I'd see — 
With our own R. D. Johnston, 

And our late lamented Bush, 
In line abreast on that great day, 

All go thro' in a rush. 
For they were gamesters every one — 

Not a quitter in the lot — 
And when it comes to scrappin' 

They wuz always on the spot; 
And the good Lord loves a scrapper. 

When they're thoroughbred and game, 
Like Moses and Old Samson, ^ 

And others I could name: 
Such as that young feller David, 

Who knocked out in one round 



8 



The big heavyweight Goliath, 

And stretched him on the ground. 
And of course, if God loves fighters, 

He cannot help but like 
The men of Lee and Johnston, 

For never down the pike 
Came nobler; braver, better men, 

Or men of greater might. 
Than those who 'neath the Stars and Bars 

Fought for God, for home and right. 
And if up thar my wish could bring 

All those I'd like to see, 
I'd have the whole great armies 

Of Johnston and of Lee 
United in one column grand 

Without one man amiss. 
Go marching through old Peter's gate 

To everlasting bliss. 
What matter if among the crowd 

Then heading for that place 
Should come a few who while on earth 

Were somewhat short on grace? 
I'll wager now the golden crown 

Which I expect to wear 
That every one who wore the gray 

Will get a welcome there. 
For He, the Great Commanding Chief 

Of all the hosts on high, 
Will look upon a soldier's faults 

With kind forgiving eye. 
And as He knows their cause was just 

And they were brave and true. 
He will, no doubt, command old Pete 

To let 'em all go through. 



I'm sure I'd see brave Mosby there, 

Longstreet and Pickett too; 
Jeb Stuart and old Beauregard — 

Rip roaring Pelham true, 
With A. P. and brave D. H. Hill, 

And grand old Fitzhugh Lee; 
Wade Hampton too, right in the push, 

And of course, old General Bee, 
With all their men in phalanx grand 

Come swooping up on high. 
In double quick on spreading wings 

To encampments in the sky. 
I'd want 'em to come galooting, 

Full of vim and full of pranks, 
Jest like I used to see 'em 

When they charged upon the Yanks. 
And then the flag that Peter thar 

Would be holding out in sight 
Would be a great big banner 

Of perfect spotless white; 
And them angels and archangels 

In Heaven looking out 
To see our fellers coming 

Would set up such a shout 
As would sound just like a Rebel yell 

When we put the Yanks to rout. 
And when Jackson's brave foot cavalry 

Came whooping up the slope 
Thar'd be no use for doubting, 

Or a moment's loss of hope 
That through the gates they'd go right in 

Or scale the jasper wall 
For nothing save chain lightning 

Could Stonewall's men appall. 



10 



I would like to see Jeff Davis, 

So faithful, firm and true, 
Lead up the great procession, 

And see them safely through; 
And I'd know full well if down the line 

A shout rose mounting high, 
"That the boys had jumped a rabbit, 

Or Stonewall was riding by." 
And should I hear some darned galoot 

Crying "Mister, here's your mule," 
I'd know that he was poking fun 

At some poor country fool. 
But like as not, if I was thar 

A standin' on that cloud, 
I'd be so full of happiness — 

A hurrahing at the crowd — 
That I'd forget just where I wuz 

And what I was doin' thar, 
And be trying to pluck from Heaven's crown 

Its every shining star 
To pin upon the faded coats — 

Those ragged jackets gray. 
Like the women did with roses. 

When to war we marched away. 
And when grand old Lee on Traveler 

Came loping up on high, 
Altho' I stood at Heaven's gate 

I'd have to yell or die — 
For I could no more hold my breath, 

Or stop the rising yell. 
Than could powder keep from 'splodin' 

If dropped in flames of — well, 
You know I'd have to give a squall. 

Or raise some kind of fuss. 
And whether Peter liked or not, 

I wouldn't care a cuss. 



H ttmu to 6efl. Robert €. Cee 

How good of God to give the world 
Our own superb, brave Robert Lee, 

The noblest, truest type of man 
That this old earth shall ever see. 

Of stature grand, and stately mien. 
With intellect as broad as space, 

True wisdom marked his every word, 
And kindness beamed upon his face. 

No evil deed e'er stained his hand, 
No wicked word profaned his tongue, 

His heart made pure by heavenly love, 
No crime his conscience ever stung. 

Majestic in his every pose, 

Most dignified in every move; 
Yet humbleness and modest grace, 

For him a crown of glory wove. 

As brave was he as Achilles, 

Defiant as Ajax of old; 
Yet never act of tyranny 

Marred the greatness of his soul. 

No taint of hate or prejudice. 

E'er swerved the currents of his thought, 
Whose trend was but for truth and right. 

For which he lived, for which he wrought. 

He loved his country and its flag, 

The Union as it used to be, 
But more than these he loved his God, 

His honor and his liberty. 

12 



And when the Union was profaned 

By despots and fanatics wild, 
He turned away in sad distrust: 

Its flag no more his heart beguiled. 

And when he saw his Mother State 
By armed incendiaries menaced, 

Forth from its scabbard flashed his sword. 
And bravely he the invaders faced. 

And like Horatius at the Bridge, 

With dauntless heart and faith sublime. 

He stood his ground and won a fame 
As lasting as eternal time. 

And when the storm of war had passed, 
When all save honor then had fled, 

The world beheld him and with love 
Placed Immortelles upon his head. 

Thus crowned with honor, love and fame. 

His every duty nobly done, 
God gave him back to Mother Earth, 

Virginia's grandest, noblest son. 

And when a million years shall pass, 
And thrice ten thousand heirs to fame 

Like stars shall rise to shine and set. 
Time will but brighter gild his name. 

For never since the morning stars 

With rapture sung o'er new-born earth, 

Has such a God-like man been bom. 
As when great Robert Lee had birth. 



13 



44 



Dixie" 



Poor old Dan Emmett is dead and his body- 
lies at rest in his humble grave, unmarked save 
by a simple plain stone placed there by the 
generous hand of one who knew him not in life, 
but whose heart had been touched and electri- 
fied by the musical notes that have served to 
make the name of Emmett famous the wide 
world over. 

Destined by fate to hardships and poverty, 
persisting from the morn of his infancy to the 
night of his exit from earth, he might have 
faded from the world and gone into eternity, 
"unwept, unhonored and unsung," but for the 
inspiration of "Dixie." 

Little, perhaps, did he dream when his hand 
was writing the notes of that little musical 
screed, intended but to serve as a minstrel skit 
for an evening, that his hand was then building 
for himself a monimient higher than the shaft 
on Bunker Hill, loftier than the montmient to 
Washington, and more sublime and enduring 
than the highest pyramid in Egypt. 

Whether it was the mere accident of circum- 
stance or the driving force of God's will, we do 
not know, but this sublime note of his humble 
brain has taken its place among the everlasting 
gems of musical melody to shine forever as one 
of the brightest of the fixed stars in the heav- 
enly dome of harmony. 

I have listened entranced to the great Beetho- 
ven symphonies and thrilled with delight at 
their grand climaxes. I have been wondrously 

14 



moved by the heart-enrapturing harmonies of 
the masterful Wagnerian operas, and have 
swam in a mazy sea of deHght Hstening to the 
Niebelungen Ring, the master work among all 
dramatic operas. 

My soul has been electrified and delighted 
with the melodious strains of Verdi's Trovatore 
and Traviata. I have reveled in silent bliss 
listening to the Fugues of Sebastian Bach on 
the great concert organ. 

I have listened with varied emotions to the 
fickle and fantastic music of Liszt, which moved 
my emotions to tears and laughter and made 
me feel for a moment like dancing and the next 
minute would start my tears to flowing. 

I have heard the great oratorios, Schubert's 
love songs, Schumann's sentimental quartettes 
and quintettes, and my heart has been solaced 
by Grieg's Suite of deep thoughts in musical 
poetry, and with the wonderful songs without 
words of the mighty Mendelssohn. I have been 
rapturously spellbound by that greatest of all 
operas, Gounod's Faust, and enjoyed intensely 
the lighter operas of Strauss, and a thousand 
times have I felt the enthusiasm that is inspired, 
in the hearts of patriots when the band plays 
''The Watch on the Rhine," "The Marseillaise" 
and ''The Star-Spangled Banner." 

But what were all of these and a world more 
of such music to me compared to the wonder- 
ful, miraculous melody of "Dixie!" 

Yes, "Dixie" — grand old "Dixie" — inspired by 
Jehovah and brought forth from the brain of 
an humble artisan of music to ring in everlast- 
ing strains of joy to the end of time, even as 

15 



the words of Him, the lowly Nazarene, who 
came from the womb of a hurable peasant 
woman, were destined to live and give ever- 
lasting hope to the hearts of the millions of earth 
forever. 

A stranger among strangers in a foreign land, 
oppressed with feelings of loneliness, I have sat 
me down in a park of wondrous beauty and 
thought to beguile my sadness by listening to 
the classical music of a magnificent band per- 
forming there. But my heart was dull and the 
notes fell listless upon my apathetic ear; then 
there came a change in the program, and I 
heard the notes of the famous national anthems, 
and yet my soul was still unstirred, till sudden- 
ly, like a heavenly sunburst of glorious enliven- 
ing light, I caught the welcome notes of ''Dixie." 

Then suddenly, as the lightning's light 
Dispels the darkness of the night. 

My grief had fled, my cares had sped, 
The world was bright, my heart was light. 

And from my very soul I said: 
''I'm glad I live in Dixie." 

Beautiful, bewitching, grand and inspiring are 
the notes of "Dixie." 

In the years gone by, when dark clouds and 
muttering thunders gave forebodings of war, I 
have heard its clarion call, and seen the farmer 
leave his plow, the smith his forge, the banker 
his desk, the mechanic his bench, the merchant 
his store, the doctor his home, the lawyer his 
office, the shoemaker his shop — all in unity of 

16 



purpose with the inspiration of ''Dixie" in their 
hearts, rushing to the rendezvous of Mars and 
with gun and saber upon a thousand fields of 
battle perform the most prodigious feats of val- 
or that earth has ever known. 

^ Yes, I have seen a thousand men in battle 
line stand trembHng and pale while shot, shrap- 
nel and shell from unseen foes came whistling, 
hurtling and shrieking, striking death and terror 
in their wake, and I have seen the lips of those 
brave men purple and quiver with fear while 
waiting for orders, hesitating in despair and al- 
most upon the verge of stampeding in retreat, 
but in that very moment when hiunan fortitude 
and courage seemed strained beyond further en- 
durance I have heard the regimental band break 
forth with thrilHng effect and heard the order, 
"Forward! Charge!" and with the rebel yell 
mingling with the shrill, inspiring notes of the 
music, saw those same men bound forward hke 
a cyclone of destruction — a veritable and mighty 
besom of wrath sweeping everything before 
it, for the bands were plaidng ''Dixie!" 

And I have sat alone upon the shore of a 
placid bay at night, my soul subdued with mel- 
ancholy musings, but aroused by the mellowed 
strains of music wafted shoreward from the deck 
of a distantly anchored warship, felt my heart 
leap with joy as, awakened from my reverie, I 
seemed to see the reflected stars of heaven 
wildly dancing with joy upon the rippHng 
waves, keeping time to the joyous notes of 
"Dixie." 



17 



Again, and but recently, I stood a spectator 
amid a great assemblage within a majestic hall, 
whose walls were festooned and draped with 
beautiful flowers and vari-colored buntings, pen- 
nants and silken banners. ''A thousand lamps 
shone brightly o'er fair women and brave men." 
The grand march of gray veterans and beautiful 
women had just ended. Standing apart with a 
group of his warrior comrades, a grand old sol- 
dier,* with silvery locks and joy-beaming eyes, 
said to his friends: "When my time comes to 
go I would that it should be on some occasion 
like this, when everybody is happy and the 
band is playing Dixie." 

At that instant the blaring band broke forth 
with the stirring strains of that grand old South- 
em air, and with an applauding cry of joy from 
his lips, his stalwart frame trembled and swayed, 
his eyes glazed, and he was dead. God had 
heard his words and granted his wish. 

Oh! what a sweet and glorious consummation 
of his earthly career, to have Deity himself in- 
tervene and grant his wish, and without a mo- 
ment of sadness or a twinge of pain, to be trans- 
lated from that magnificent, gorgeous scene of 
beatity, peace, happiness and pleasure of earth 
to scenes of celestial grandeur and seraphic 
bliss. 

And it is no far-strained stretch of my imagi- 
nation when methinks I see him, smiling still, 
flitting through space like a meteor of light con- 
voyed by angels bright, through azure seas of 

♦John A. Mackey, Confederate veteran of Tennessee, fell dead on 
the floor of the great Confederate Veterans' Reunion hall on the 
evening of May 18, 1916, just after uttering the words quoted above. 

18 



summer night, past shining moons and radiant 
worlds, great blazing suns and satellites, past 
paradise to portals grand of that supreme celes- 
tial land, and there to see the great white gate 
rolled back by angel hands that wait, and from 
within hear angel bands with golden harps and 
tuneful lyres, attuned to voices of angelic choirs, 
ringing out with welcome song which heaven's 
high vaulted domes prolong, to him the warrior 
bold — the upright man who loved his God and 
all that clan who were glad to live and die in 
Dixie. 



Tn nature CbougMs of 6oa Hbiae 

All Nature is Jehovah's tongue. 
From which his thoughts are only wrung 
Through diligence and efforts stem. 
By those who would his mysteries learn. 

There's not a blossom, bud or bloom, 
That yields to air its sweet perfume. 
But still retains whilst ages course, 
The secret of their odor's source. 

There's not a clod or common stone. 
But holds a secret which if known. 
Might yield to him who finds the same, 
A glorious and immortal name. 

Go view the thousand herbs afield. 
In some of which may lie concealed 
Some panacea or nepenthe 
From ill and pain to make us free. 

19 



On earth, on sea, above, below. 
Wherever man hath dared to go, 
God's hidden mysteries still abound 
Which waits man's efforts to be found. 

In everything which God hath wrought, 
Are secrets great, demanding thought, 
And as those secrets we expose. 
The more His wisdom we disclose. 

In realms above where worlds unknown 
Fly circling 'round God's mystic throne, 
Ten million secrets yet abide. 
Which God to man may yet confide. 

But Nature is a stubborn tongue. 
From which God's secrets are but wrung 
Through diligence and efforts stem. 
By those who would those secrets learn. 



jfl UmiHi Vears from Dow 

This world is but a living hive 

Of drones and busy bees. 
Where some must ever toil and strive, 

While others take their ease; 
Tho' after all it matters not 

But little I avow. 
For all will sleep and be forgot, 

A hundred years from now. 

20 



No matter whether rich or poor, 

Each Hfe must end the same, 
For all there's but one parting door, 

Death's portal is its name; 
And when we through that portal go, 

What matters when or how? 
No one will ever care to know, 

A hundred years from now. 

The high and low, the rich and poor, 

Are actors for a day. 
The genius and the stupid boor 

Each one a part must play 
Upon this mundane stage: 

Even so must I and thou; 
But scarce a thought will we engage 

A hundred years from now. 

The quest of fame is life for some. 

Whilst others live for love. 
And sweet success for some may come, 

But ruthless fate will prove 
That neither fame nor Cupid's art 

Can lingering joys endow. 
Nor wake one throb in pulseless heart 

A hundred years from now. 

Behold yon strutting martinet 

Who walks with martial stride: 
How quick the world will him forget 

When he has passed aside; 
The poorest plebeian, or his brute 

That pulls or pushes plow, 
To earth will be as much as he 

A hundred years from now. 

21 



Then why not let us all be good 

And put all caste aside? 
Just love each other as we should 

While yet we here abide. 
Might not w^e then e'er Styx we cross 

Soothe many an aching brow 
Of those who too will be but dross 

A hundred years from now? 



Home, Love, Mother, Wife: these are the 
four aces in the deck of human language, which, 
if discarded, would bankrupt the vocabulary of 
the world. And the first of these four is Home: 
even as Alcyone is the one bright sun in the 
Pleiades around which all the constellations of 
suns, worlds and moons of the entire planetary 
universe revolve, so is Home the one bright 
star of all names around which every other 
word and name with glory fraught, must ever 
clustering shine. 

Without Home, true love would be unknown 
and there would be no place for mother or 
wife to hallow, glorify and adorn with her pres- 
ence, and make sacred for man's abode. 

Home is the great center coltimn that sup- 
ports the mighty dome of civilization. It is 
the one spot of the world from whence all men 
measure distance and direction of all other 
places on earth. 

22 



It is the only temple ordained of God where- 
in man may undisturbed, nurture his nobiHty of 
soul, enjoy the majesty of his manhood, and 
exercise in full the magnanimity of his love, 
kindness and fidehty. It is the sacred altar 
from whence all men derive their first inspira- 
tions of truth, tolerance and virtue, and learn 
to reverence God and respect woman. 

And every home on earth, ''Be it ever so 
humble," if hallowed by faith, love, constancy 
and peace, is a holy shrine so blest of God that 
angels might come to worship there, and every 
such home is more sacred to God than the 
Mosque of Omar, the Temple of Neptune, the 
Pagoda at Canton, Saint Peter's at Rome, 
Westminster at London, or any other sanctuary 
which the genius of architect and skill of arti- 
san has ever erected. 

I once saw a picture portraying the ''Dawn 
of Civilization." 'it was a picture of a primeval 
forest, in the perspective of which was a large 
tree and in the boughs was a primeval woman 
with her infant in her arms crouching with fear; 
midway upon the trunk of the tree was a large 
hairy man, holding on with his left arm, while 
in his strong right hand was held menacingly a 
great defensive club; near the base of the tree 
was a crouching Hon in the attitude of making 
an attack. And as I looked upon the picture 
of that wild man protecting his wife and child 
I thought of that man's home and said to my- 
self, "I would rather be a wild man like him 
and live in a cave with a bed of straw with 
some one to love and to love me, than be the 



23 



most fortune-favored bachelor that ever Hved 
unloved and died unmoumed since man's ad- 
vent on earth." 

Yes, give me a Home wherever it be, 
On mountain side or down by the sea, 
A palace grand or a hut of clay: 
Be where it will, be what it may, 
If hallowed by a woman's tread 
From out whose genial soul is shed 
The gentle warmth and loving light 
To make that hut or palace bright. 
For greater boon no man should plead 
To Heaven for his earthly meed. 
And if children too, be also given 
'Twill be a vestibule of Heaven. 

Yes, Home, sweet Home! What magic in 
that one sweet word with which to bring back 
the joyous recollections of childhood's happy 
days, to recall the hopes, aspirations and ambi- 
tions of the young man's fitful, fleeting years. 

Yes, Home, sweet Home! A haven of fidel- 
ity, love and joy; an asylum of plenty, peace 
and contentment; a fortress against the tempta- 
tions, trials and tumults of the outer world; a 
place where the man of business or the labor- 
ing man, may come at the close of day, tho' 
bruised and tired with the conflicts of his day's 
battle for existence, and find sweet rest, repose 
and comfort. 

A place where the old man whose frame has 
been bent with toil and time, whose mission in 
life has been compassed, may sit in peace be- 

24 



neath his own vine and fig-tree, to dose and 
dream of years gone by, till he shall hear the 
angels' whispered call, and drawing his robes 
about his chilling form drop into that peaceful 
sleep that knows no dreaming, till the angels' 
call shall awaken him in that supreme supernal 
Home, not made with hands, eternal on high 
with all the blest of earth who die. 



Ruminations of an Oia Reb 



Near fifty years have passed away 

And many changes time has wrought 
Since that dear flag, the Stars and Bars, 

'Neath which our Southern Heroes fought, 
Was furled on Appomattox field 

To float no more in cause of right; 
But not in all eternity 

Will time suffice its fame to blight. 

II 

Nor will the men who bore that flag 

Through battle storm of shot and shell 
Be e'er forgot or honored less 

While history's muse delights to tell 
Of valorous deeds by knightly men, 

Of sacrifice and Constance true; 
But cycling ages yet shall roll 

E'er fame requites their honors due. 

25 



Ill 

No tongues of men nor poet's pen 

Can aught their glory magnify, 
Nor will I now in words attempt 

To gloss their fame in Eulogy; 
For what would my poor words avail, 

Should I attempt a task so vain, 
Such heroes grand, the like of whom 

The world will never see again. 



IV 

Nor should my ever humble muse 

So vain a task e'er dare assume 
When yonder sunbright god of day 

Could not with all his light illume 
Or add one more effulgent ray. 

To brighter make that glowing flame 
Which bums with fadeless glory bright 

To gild our Southern soldiers' fame. 



Theirs was the boon to have been born 

In this Southland supremely blest 
By Nature's God whose hands designed 

And next to Heaven made it best; 
Where chivalry pervades the air 

And ev'ry heart is honor's court, 
Where men are brave and women fair 

And ev'ry home is virtue's fort. 



26 



VI 



Environed thus from very birth 

Through daily Hfe to man's estate, 
How could such men but noble be 

Chivalrous, and superbly great? 
Innate their love of liberty, 

And deeply jealous of their rights, 
They Hved as God ordained they should 

The knightliest of all knightly Knights. 



VII 



Nor is it strange that such as they 

Should illy brook the meddling tongue, 
The covert wiles, menacing threats 

And insults at their section flung— 
Nay, nay; but stranger far indeed 

Such conduct of the Northern horde 
Had not from scabbard sooner forced 

The fire-fiashing Southern sword. 



VIII 



With contumely and contempt 

They'd seen their friendly offers spurned, 
Their pleadings vain for rights denied. 

And calumnies that bhstering burned, 
Had long been borne in hopeful trust 

That reason might assert its sway 
To keep the union bonds intact 

And shield the land from war's dismay. 



27 



DC 



But such, alas! was not to be; 

Fanatic zeal usurped the brain 
And racial treason did its part 

To make all Southern pleadings vain; 
The common ties of brotherhood 

All pride of Anglo-Saxon blood, 
In wild maelstrom of malice vile 

Was drowned in "abolition" flood. 



X 

Consuming flames of envious hate 

Made black the heart and charred the soul, 
Caucasian pride was burned away 

Whilst blackmoors usurped control. 
And piloting with torch and gun 

Southward led their vandal hordes 
To murder, pillage, and to bum 

And write their laws with bloody swords. 



XI 

Yea, loudly howled the hungry pack 

Unleashed by hatred of the South, 
How fiercely gleamed their mad green eyes 

And foamed with rage each snarling mouth. 
How fiery red the panting tongues 

Of those spite-crazed war dogs of hate 
Set on by wild fanatic clans 

Our sunny land to desolate. 



28 



XII 

How darkly grew the lowering cloud, 

How ominous flashed the livid flame 
Of pent-up wrath and lust of gore, 

Whilst mutterings deep of thunder came, 
Portentous of impending storm 

In frowning fury soon to break 
With dread appalling sanguine flood, 

When God should seem earth to forsake. 

XIII 

Then wonder not when Southern blades 

Like lightning flames leapt flashing bright. 
That heaven was made to stand aghast 

And earth to tremble at its might. 
For never since old Hector's day. 

Since Priam, Ajax, Achilles, 
Contending strove with demigods, 

Has earth been drenched with redder seas. 



XIV 

No mean ambitious thirst for gain. 

Nor wish for conquest or revenge. 
Unto their righteous cause gave stain, 

Not even the remotest tinge; 
But urged by all that men revere 

And all that God himself holds good, 
They reared aloft the Stars and Bars 

To which they pledg'd their hearts' best blood. 



29 



XV 



But let me now the curtain drop, 

Nor let my fervid muse portray 
The awful scenes of carnage dire 

Of wreck and death and grim dismay 
When fiends of hell their courts forsook 

And gloating danced in frenzied glee 
While urging on the tempest storm 

To swell the raging bloody sea. 



XVI 

Yea, would to God I could forget, 

All records from my mind efface, 
Of treason and of treachery 

By Anglo-Saxons to their race. 
Who for their Ethiopian love, 

Betrayed the law, their own God, 
And waged a stern relentless war 

On white men of their race and blood. 



XVII 

Yes, let the gruesome scene be veiled, 

Nor my poor muse attempt to tell 
Of deeds of war more horrible 

Than Dante's morbid dream of hell; 
More horrible, more dismal drear, 

Than met the gaze of Satan's eyes 
On landing in the pits of hades 

When hurled from courts of paradise. 



30 



XVIII 

Yes, be it so, for not my muse. 

My heart, nor soul, is now in mood 
To paint the agonizing scenes 

When flowed our land with crimson flood; 
Nor picture that four years of storm 

When ominous clouds of deathly pall 
Foreboding hung in somber hue 

And grief and gloom was over all. 

XIX 

However, I will not repine 

For what is past or what is done; 
Both sides in that contentious strife 

Have in a measure victory won. 
The South in bold defiance stood 

For home, for honor, first and last, 
Her homes then burned have been rebuilt— 

Her honor from her never passed. 

XX 

Whilst those of Ethiopian love 

Who sought our whilom slaves to free 
And make co-equals with themselves 

In social rights and Hberty 
The gue^-don of their wish obtained. 

And now with those dark sons of Ham 
May eat and sleep and with them vote 

And no one cares a tinker's dam. 



31 



Colerance 

Tolerance is the antithesis of egotism, selfish- 
ness and bigotry, and is the bedrock foundation 
of all civilization. It is the keystone in the 
arch of the temple of liberty whose four sup- 
porting pillars are: freedom of speech, the right 
of public assembly, freedom of the press, and 
freedom of conscience. It is the golden key 
that unlocks the fetters of superstitious bondage 
and makes men free. 

It is the very spirit and soul of that God- 
given Golden Rule, which commands us to *'Do 
unto others as we would that others should do 
unto us." It is the first of all human virtues, 
the auriferous rock from which is coined the 
golden jewels of love, mercy and charity, and is 
the ever living germ of true democracy, which 
is itself the vicegerent of God, proclaiming equal 
rights and opportunities for all races, nations 
and tribes of men on earth. 

Yes, tolerance is the fulcrum and forbear- 
ance the lever which the hand of evolution or 
the spirit of Jehovah has been using for thou- 
sands of years in efforts to elevate man's na- 
ture from the low plane of his brutish instincts 
of selfishness, cruelty and tyranny to a higher 
plane of righteous nobility. 

And ever since the day 'When John the 
Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of 
Judea," the world has beheld the dawning light 
of a brighter future for mankind. And when 
He, who came after him, speaking ''as never 
man spake," sa3dng, "Forgive thine enemies," 

32 



and ''Love thy neighbor as thyself," that Hght 
has been growing brighter and brighter, dispell- 
ing the dark clouds of superstition, banishing 
belief in human gods and ''The divine right 
of kings," and its coming glory is yet destined 
to obliterate and annihilate the last vestige of 
all those lingering shadows of false pagan be- 
lief: that God ever delegated to anyone on 
earth, the reserved prerogative of Himself to 
condemn and punish any mortal of this world 
for his religious faith and belief. 

But the bright orb of tolerance has not yet 
reached its zenith and is still eclipsed and over- 
shadowed by ever present clouds of supersti- 
tion, selfishness and spite, and ever yet, "Man's 
inhumanity to man makes countless thousands 
mourn." 

Ignorance, egotism, superstition and selfish- 
ness, still dominate the world. A thousand 
differing religious sects with their special dog- 
mas, serve to perplex and disturb the minds of 
men and to set them at variance one with an- 
other. Political partisanship, racial hatred, sec- 
tional prejudice, serve also to block the wheels 
of human progress and prevent the spread of 
that true spirit of altruism that would make all 
men brothers; but with persistent efforts in be- 
half of education and universal knowledge, the 
time will come when all men shall as one recog- 
nize and believe in the only one true omnipo- 
tent and omniscient God, the supreme Archi- 
tect of all creation and Ruler of all that is, ever 
was or will be, and that man's highest religious- 



33 



duty is to reverence God, love merc}^ and be- 
stow charity and strive to make his fellow 
creatures happy. Then will tolerance reign 
supreme and the great eye of the Great I Am 
looking down upon earth from His great White 
Throne, and seeing what has been done, will 
send forth again His white-winged messenger, 
the Dove of Peace, saying, "These are my be- 
loved people in whom I am well pleased." 



cbe urn of m moria 

God spake and said "Let there be light," 

And every orb that silent hung 
In ebon space of timeless night 

Heard the great Creator's tongue 
And thrilled with joy began to move 

In cycling lines through realms of space, 
Transcendent in the light of love, ' 

Reflected from Jehovah's face. 

This old world then, the last and best 

Of all the great revolving spheres. 
Rolled into line to march abreast 

Adown the everlasting years 
Of endless time in glory bright. 

Superbly grand, more loved of God 
Than every sun and satellite 

That beams upon our dewy sod. 



34 



Now man in image of his God, 

Came forth in majesty and might; 
But scarcely ere the earth he trod 

He sinned and brought a dark'ning blight 
Upon himself and all His race, 

A keen regret beyond compare. 
For God now turned away His face, 

And left him groping in despair. 

Then for a thousand sinful years 

This earth was wrapped in savage gloom, 
In dungeons vile men spent their tears, 

And hirnian bones without a tomb 
Were strewn where tyrant fiends had trod; 

Nor innocence nor virtue's charm 
Sufficed to stay the cruel rod 

Of bloody tyrants' lifted arm. 

Brute force and superstition's sway, 

Then ruled instead of loving Hght, 
No star of hope sent forth one ray 

To break the gloom of cheerless night 
That palled the minds and hearts of all, 

Whilst savage hate in ruthless war 
A deaf ear turned to mercy's call. 

And lustful instincts had no bar. 

But by and by tradition says, 

God said again ''Let there be light," 
And speeding like a meteor's rays,_ 

From heaven came an Angel bright, 
And in her outstretched hand she brought. 

That heavenly boon, the potent pen, 
And through God's will its use she taught, 

To elevate the minds of men. 

35 



Not since that day the angel came, 

With scintillating pen in hand, 
Has old earth ever been the same, 

For everywhere in every land, 
Those palls of gloom and dark despair 

That overcast each human life. 
Are lifting up and here and there 

Are hopeful signs of ceasing strife. 

But even yet, man waits in vain 

For dawning of millennium's day; 
Sin shackles earth with many a chain, 

And superstition holds its sway; 
King Bacchus too, still holds his own. 

And damns with foul polluting breath, 
Whilst millions bow before his throne, 

And yield him tribute in their death. 

But day by day, and year by year. 

There's less of darkness, more of light; 
More of love and less of fear, 

More of justice and less of might; 
More of virtue and less of crime, 

More real goodness and less of sin. 
Than e'er before at any time 

Since men began to use the pen. 

Then let all glory be ascribed 

To every one who wields a pen, 
Bravely, boldly and unbribed. 

In helpfulness of fellowmen; 
May each receive a grateful share 

Of all the blessings earth can give. 
Nor evil e'er their footsteps snare. 

But joys attend them whilst they live. 

36 



And when o'er Styx so dark and deep, 

They .cross to other realms afar, 
May Peter there be found asleep 

Beside the pearly gates ajar; 
So each and all, yea every one, 

Unchallenged be allowed to pass. 
And rest in peace from labors done, 

With no sign there, "Keep off the grass." 



Since Vou lUent Jlway 

Time seems to drag along more wear}' 

Since you went away. 
And every day of Hfe is dreary 

Since you went away; 
I feel indeed I'm growing older. 
My very blood flows slow and colder, 
And heavier are the cares I shoulder, 

Since you went away. 

My gray locks are growing thinner 

Since you went away. 
And my eyes are growing dimmer 

Since you went away; 
I have less and less of gladness 
But ever more and more of sadness, 
And I'm gloomy unto madness, 
, . Since you went away. 

37 



This old town seems less active 

Since you went away, 
And our home is less attractive 

Since you went away; 
Time's pendulum swings slower, 
Life's cloud of care floats lower, 
Like a boat without a rower, 

Since you went away. 

Neighbors' children seem to shun us 

Since you went away, 
As if plagues had come upon us 

Since you went away; 
Spiders now are spinning thread 
In the room where you were wed. 
Wherein no one cares to tread, 

Since you went away. 

Yes, our home indeed is lonely 

Since you went away, 
And I'm thinking of you only 

Since you went away; 
Humboldt street is sad without you, 
Tho' old friends still ask about you, 
And none ever seem to doubt you. 

Since you went away. 

But I and your dear old mother 

Since you went away. 
Strive our best our cares to smother 

Since you went away; 
But with coming of the twilight, 
Sad forebodings come to blight, 
And our dropping tears unite, 

Since you went away. 

38 



But to quell the thoughts that bother 

Since you went away, 
We realize you're with another 

Who your trust will ne'er betray; 
But will do his best to please, 
And will give you love and ease, 
Tho' you're with the ''darned Chinese" 

So far, far awav. 



There is an hour, the gladdening glories oi 
which the inspired pen of the poet, though scin- 
tillating with the brightest rays of divine-lit 
genius, can never paint, and the world's vocab- 
ulary can never express. 

It is the hour when life's brightest hopes are 
concentrated into a blissful realization, and a 
millennium's joys are focused in its moments. 
And for every rational living being there is or 
may be such an hour. But when, and for 
whom shall it be? Shall it be for the greedy 
gatherer of gold, when he has filled his coffers 
to fullness and overflowing, and his greedy 
heart is satisfied and his selfish lust is sated? 

Is it for the man of books, when he has mas- 
tered every science and language of the living 
and the dead, and with the keys of his knowl- 
edge has unlocked the laboratories of ^ God's 
creative science and he rests reveHng in the 
mysteries exposed? 

39 



Is it for the man of arms, when he has con- 
quered nations and planted the standard of his 
supremacy upon the ramparts of his last enemy, 
and crowned with the victor's wreath of laurel, 
he listens to paeans of praise and the plaudits 
of homage from his approving countrymen? 

Is it for the statesman, when his brilliant 
eloquence and diplomatic genius have won for 
his name a place upon the highest pinnacle of 
fame, and he sees his shape and lineaments 
translated into bronze and mounted on a pedes- 
tal of granite to perpetuate his memory through 
the waste of time? 

Is it for the philosopher and inventor, when, 
after years of unremitting toil and labor, he at 
last solves the problem of his study, and sees 
the creation of his mind fashioned by his hand, 
performing the wonders and achievements of 
his great desire? 

No, these are but transitory pleasures, and 
are as leaden dross to burnished gold, when 
compared to the ecstatic bliss and joys of the 
golden hour to those who have felt its power. 

Would you know when and to whom this 
hour comes? It is for the Christian, whose 
heart has been exalted by faith, whose soul 
has been bowed by repentance, and whose love 
has been purified by God's redeeming grace. 

It comes in the night-time of sorrow, when 
the scourging of his bitter recollections, and the 
goadings of his conscience overwhelm his wicked 
nature and drive him on amid a storm of wrath, 
unguided by a star of hope, until the dark pall 
of everlasting despair seems just ready to close 

40 



in upon his existence and shut him up in hell 
forever; and when in the agony of his soul, he 
turns to the cross of Jesus, and, lifting his voice 
to God on high, cries out in the depths of his 
sorrow, "Mercy, mercy, — ^have mercy, m.y God!" 

Then it is when Jesus hears his cry, and sud- 
denly as the Hghtning's flash that rives the 
darkness in the tempest night, his griefs are 
gone, and a crown of life and Heaven is won. 

This is the Christian's Golden Hour, but 
its inexpressible joys, for lack of language, must 
forever remain a secret to those alone who 
have felt its rapture. 



Rural Optimism 

(At Beginning of Great European War.) 

Let 'em ''Hock to de Kaiser, en Hock to de 

Czar," 
Let 'em ''Hock to de Debbel en his Imps of 

War," 
Let 'em fight, let 'em scrap, let 'em scrap, let 

'em fight, 
I dunno who's wrong, en I dunno who's right, 
But I knows dat I's happy right here whar I 

am 
En I'm gwine ter keep er hockin' fer our own 

Uncle Sam. 



41 



Let Austria, Rooshia, en Englan' en France, 
Jine hands all roun', en mix up in de dance, 
Let de big bear howl, en de big lion roar, 
So long's dey stays on dar side ob de shore; 
Ef dey lets me alone, wid mah dog en mah mule, 
I ain't gwine ter go croakin' round here like a 
fool. 

Wid corn in de crib, en wheat in de bin. 
Chickens in de yard, en pigs in de pen, 
Cott'n in de bale, en cotton in de seed. 
En molasses done made, heap more den I need, 
My dog jes' a longin' fer de full ob de moon, 
Wen we's gwine ter go huntin' ob de 'possum 
en de coon. ' 

Milk en butter in de spring house, nice en cool, 
Plenty fodder in de stack, fer de cow en de 

mule. 
Big pof on de fire, en wife er makin' soap. 
All de chilluns in de back yard, jumpin' de 

rope. 
En de roosters all er crowin' so joyous en clear, 
Fer de Chrismus time is almos' here. 

White folks talkin' lots 'bout de big Furrin' 

War, 
But I's not boddered 'bout de fightin' ober 

dar, 
I's got a little money hid away in my shoe, 
Fer to pay all my taxes, when my taxes comes 

due. 
En I ain't skeered ob starvin, nor ob losin' ob 

my home, 
Fer "Hard Times" is a humbug, en he ain't 

gwine ter come. 

42 



My eddication ain't much, but I ain't er fool, 
En I knows dat wid workin', bof me en my 

mule, 
We can allers hab a libin' en a leetle ter spar, 
En I don't care a fig 'bout dat big Furrin' War, 
Per wid trust in mah dog, en faith in mah Crea- 
tor, 
I's gwine ter hab a libin', ef it's 'possimi en 
'tater. 

Jes' a word in conclusion, ter you white folks 

ebery one: 
We's got de best Gub'ment eber shone on by 

, de sun, 
' En wid Wilson fer our Capt'n, en old Bryan at 

de bat. 
We kin whup er worl' of wild cats, ef it eber 

comes ter dat; 
So what's de use ob worryin', or croakin' 'bout 

de War, 
When peace en. plenty's reignin' in de country 

whar we are. 



tm 

Love is the all-permeating spirit of God 
which gives color to the rainbow, fragrance to 
the flower, the charm to music, beauty to stars; 
it illuminates the brain, stirs the heart, awak- 
ens hope, increases faith, lends sweetness to the 
kiss, a glow to the cheek, brightness to the eye, 

43 



and all rapture to life. It is the polar star of 
ambition and. the inspiration to every noble 
endeavor. Every beautiful pagoda, majestic 
temple and magnificent architectural structure 
for whatever purpose erected, had love for the 
origin of its design, for without love to inspire 
the imagination nothing beautiful was ever 
created. Go tread the on3rK, marble and porphy- 
ry floors of the great art galleries of Rome, the 
great art center of the world, and gaze upon 
the priceless treasures of painted canvas and 
chiseled stone, and when your eyes have feasted 
until your soul is burdened with over-surfeited 
rapture, pause for a moment and ask yourself 
the question: "What was the inspiration of all 
this wealth of genius, this sea of glory?" and 
your heart will answer, "Love." 

Could a Croesus whose soul was set on gold, 
produce such work? Could selfish ambition 
unfanned by the flame of Love conceive of 
such color, shape and tone? No! The veriest 
flower that decks the sod, the gorgeous rainbow 
that arches the earth, the clustering stars that 
spangle the sky, will tell you. No! For what- 
ever is beautiful, symmetrical, systematic in 
nature, is but an exemplification of the love of 
God. 

And man who was created in His image and 
likeness, could no more indite a beautiful ode, a 
grand epic, or originate a musical strain, melo- 
dious song, or masterful oration without love for 
its inception than he could transmute base brass 
into refined gold, or reverse the eternal law of 
gravity. Yes, love is the most potential in- 

44 



fluence and the greatest dynamic force in na- 
ture for the propagation and the preservation of 
the species and increasing the population of the 
world. It is the vivida vis animi of all human 
intellect and the vis a tergo of evolution and 
progress. 

First cousin to friendship; twin sister of truth; 
the mother of charity; soul of the Universe. 
Its name the sweetest word on mortal tongue; 
the sweetest note by angels sung, the passport 
to the highest pleasures of earth; and the one 
true shibboleth which must be given to the 
guardian angels at the gates of Heaven to gain 
admission to the Elysian fields by God pre- 
pared for the Pure in Heart, whose Uves have 
been sanctified by its all-redeeming grace. 



Our Public School* 

(Air: Maryland, My Maryland.) 

Blest be the call that brings us here, 

Our PubHc School — our PubHc School; 
We come to aid with friendly cheer. 

Our PubHc School — our Public School; 
And trusting Him who rules above 
To guide us in our works of love. 
We'll vow to thee to faithful prove, 
Our PubHc School — our Public School. 



♦Written to be sung on Mothers' Day by Public School Improve- 
ment Association. 

45 



In high esteem we'll ever hold, 

Our Public School — our Public School; 

A priceless boon to be extolled, 

Our Public School — our Public School; 

Let wisdom rule and kindness reign — 

Nor be one effort spent in vain, 

For greater merits to attain. 

Our Public School — our Public School. 

Our fondest hopes repose in thee. 

Our Public School — our Public School; 
A bloom thou art on freedom's tree, 

Our Public School — our Public School; 
Should foes attempt thy cause to blight, 
To quench thy flame or dim thy light. 
We'll strike for thee with all our might! 
Our Public School — our Public School. 

Let wisdom, truth and duty be 

Our Public School — our Public School, 
Thy watch-words and abide with thee. 

Our Public School — our Public School; 
And with a faith in God divine 
So labor that thy light may shine, 
A beacon bright on freedom's shrine, 
Our Public School — our Public School. 

And when throughout this great domain 

Our Public Schools — our Public Schools, 
Shall ever3rwhere just meed attain. 

Our Public Schools — our Public Schools, 
Will, like yon sun of shining ray. 
That drives the gloom of night away, 
Give to the world its brightest day, 

Our Public Schools — our Public Schools. 

46 



J! Cribute to Emu\ Rapbael $emtiie$ 

Roll on, ye deep Atlantic, roll, 

Roll on ye billows blue. 
Let wind and wave in tempest rave, 

And shriek the wild seamew; 
Let frowning white-capp'd billows rise, 

In awesome, foaming wrath, 
While lightnings flash and thunders crash 

Across the seamen's path. 

Since Semmes, the King of all sea kings. 

The greatest, last and best. 
Now sleeps ashore where never more, 

Shall storms disturb his rest; 
His stainless sword lies glist'ning deep, 

Within sea blue abysses. 
Where mermaids fair yet guard with care, 

And keep it bright with kisses. 

But when a thousand years have passed, 

And Nelson's deeds at Trafalgar 
Shall fade in fame, our Admiral's name 

Will like some bright rising star 
Ascending ever higher still. 

Its highest zenith to reach, 
In glory bright shall shed a light, 

His record still to teach. 



47 



Then roll on, ye deep blue ocean, roll. 

Roll on, ye waters deep, 
To keep his name and spread his fame, 

Far as thy billows sweep; 
And you, ye winds, ye mighty winds, 

That ever restless roll, 
Unfettered, free, o'er land and sea, 

Go ye, his fame extoll. 

And when ye in tumultuous wrath, 

On storm-cloud chariots fly, 
When lightnings flash and thunders crash, 

And waves roll dashing high; 
If freedom's foes lie in thy wake, 

Let them then thank their stars 
That war is o'er and Semmes no more 

Sails 'neath the Stars and Bars. 

For in those whilom days of yore, 

Of war-storm's maddest rage, 
No wild cyclone nor dread simoon 

Could seaman's path engage, 
To wake such dread while on they sped, 

As did one banner fair. 
When 'neath its bars, like god of Mars, 

Stood Semmes with saber bare. 

On dreadnought Alabama's deck 

Bold stood a stem Nemesis, 
More dreadful then to souls of men 

Than all the storm fiend's hisses; 
And not a crew that sailed the seas, 

But sought his path to clear 
And quaked with fear his name to hear 

Whenever he was near. 

48 



But roll on now, ye waters blue, 

And roll, ye troubled waves: 
How many men who met him then, 

Have found in thee their graves. 
No mortal man may ever know 

No pen perhaps can tell, 
But all earth knows how freedom's foes. 

Quailed 'neath his shot and shell. 

And when old Time with earth is done, 

And this great cycling sphere 
Shall melt in flame, and every name 

Which mortals now hold dear, 
With land and sea shall cease to be. 

And darkness comes to reign. 
Oh, may his name and spotless fame 

Be then the last to wane! 



Cbristttias in tbe Coumry 

Chrismus is er comin' an' almos' here. 

But dere won't be no Chrismus in my home 

dis yere; 
All our chilluns now is married an' all is gone 

er way. 
Only my ole 'oman now is lef ' wid me to stay, 
An' bof uv us is gittin' ole an' feebler all de 

time; 
De ringin' bells we think uv now, is not er 

Chrismus chime — 
But de slow and solemn toUin' uv de ole church 

bell, 

49 



Dat sometime bery soon will be ringin' uv er 

knell 
Fer me or my ole 'oman, I don't know which 

one fust, 
But we's bof just here er waitin' on de Lord in 

whom we trust, 
An' de one dat's left behind will follow soon I 

know, 
Fer we can't lib disunited, now dat is true and 

sho'. 
An' when our troubles all is ended, de Chris- 

mus dat is best 
Will be when we shall meet er 'gin in er land 

uv endless res'. 
Yes, Chrismus is er comin, all de signs is mity 

fair, 
I kin feel it in my bones, I can smell it in de 

air; 
Everybody now so jolly, every bizness all er 

hum, 
Fokes crowdin' in de stores like bees widin er 

gum. 
All de women gittin' busy wid cookin' cake an' 

Chickens gittin' nervous and roostin' mity high. 

Preachers out a callin' all around de neighbor- 
hood. 

Everybody smilin' an' feelin' kinder good; 

Chilluns almos' crazy keep er teasin' Mas and 
Pas 

Er thousan' questions askin' 'bout ole Santa 
Claus ; 

Roosters mity wise stay er wake all nite to 
crow, 

50 



Knows dat Chrismus is er comin' an' wants to 

let us know: 
Yes, dese neber failin' signs makes it mity 

plain to me 
Dat Chrismus is er comin wid er reg'lar Jubilee. 
An' I really ain't much. sorry; in fact, I'm sor- 
ter glad. 
Per since I cimi to think, my condition ain't so 

bad: 
I'se got er lot uv 'taters, gittin' sweeter ebery 

day, 
Er cow dat's givin' milk an' er loft full uv hay; 
An I's got er lot uv chickens, an' lard to fry 

'em in, 
An' a half a dozen shotes er fattin' in de pen; 
I owns de house I lib in an' I don't owe a cent, 
Not like dem common niggers what has ter pay 

dere rent; 
I's an honest cullud gentelmen, dat's just what 

I am, 
Er good tax payin' citizen uv de State uv 

Alabam'. 
An' I ain't jest ready yet, to jine de angel band, 
Wid er crown upon my forehead an' er harp 

widin my hand; 
I think I rudder stay right here, in my little 

cabin home, 
Whar I gits a sweeter music from de banjo dat 

I own. 
Yes, Chrismus is er comin' an' I's glad it am 

so near 
'Cause I wants ter git to samplin' dat bar'l uv 

simmon beer. 
Now kivered up wid fodder, behind de smoke- 
house do' 

51 



Whar it has been er makin' at leas' a mont' or 

mo' — 
An' when my chillun an' grand-chilluns cum ter 

see us Chrismus mom, 
Dey's gwine ter hab de biggest treat eber had 

since dey was bom: 
'Possum baked wid 'tater, ginger cake an' 

simmon beer, 
Fried chicken an' brown gravy, er nuf ter swim 

er steer. 
All steamin' on de table wid biscuits lite an' 

brown, 
Er feast ter beat de banquets what de white folks 

hab in town; 
An' when deys all fru eatin' we'll clar de kitch- 
en flo', 
We'll string up de good ole fiddle, an' tune de 

ole banjo. 
An' when all gits ter dancin' an' de music 'gins 

to ring, 
An' all jines hands er round, an' all begins to 

sing, 
I'll lead my good ole 'oman to de middle ob de 

ring, 
An' we'll teach dem young niggers how ter cut 

de pigeon wing, 
Fer do' I is er deacon, an' prays in public now 

an' den, 
When it comes ter Chrismus dancin' I don't 

think it any sin. i 

i 



i 

52 I 



Cbe nobility of Cabor 

Majestic, indeed, is the crown that right- 
fully rests upon the royal brow of labor, and 
oh! how glorious is that crown; studded and 
scintillating as it is with every shining jewel 
and sparkling gem of true nobility which this 
old world has ever known. 

Honest, independent labor is the life and 
soul of the world, and from the brave heart of 
the willing worker ever comes that divine in- 
spiration of faith, hope, and self-esteem, which 
is the very essence of life, and that wonderful 
self-conscious dynamic power which God breath- 
ed into Adam when he made him a man. 

Blessed, therefore, is the man who has found 
his work and learned to love his task, and as 
there can be no heavenly benediction without 
labor, the faithful workman may righteously re- 
gard his every day's duty when faithfully done, 
as another higher rung gained on the heavenly 
ladder that brings him nearer to his God. 

Yes, God is just and stands revealed 

In Nature's laws unerring true, 
And by His "law of compensation," 

Assures this grant of justice due 
To every one in full degree 

A recompense which is the meed 
Of every faithful duty done. 

For every task and noble deed. 

Let no man, therefore, look upon labor as a 
penalty for sin, nor impute to his Creator the 
impious charge that He ordained labor as a 

53 



curse upon him whom He had created in His 
own image and Hkeness, for labor is life, and 
all that is glorious in this world is but the 
attestation of its virtue. Only after sin had 
entered the world did God in His wisdom, love 
and beneficence, ordain labor as man's one anti- 
dote against the ills of irksomeness, poverty and 
vice, and designed it to be his surest panacea 
for every sorrow, grief and care. 

" Idleness is the devil's workshop," and the 
products thereof are ennui, sloth, discour- 
agement and despair. But from exalted pride, 
the dynamic source of htiman energy, comes 
honor, self-respect, happiness and independence, 
and on every transmission line from that dynamic 
source of faith and force comes the radiant 
hope and glory of the world. 

Yet God never intended that man should be 
a, slave to work, nor that he should live without 
pleasure, and so provided that after every ardu- 
ous toil there should come the sweetest rest, 
and that the garnered fruits of his laborious toil 
should be with richest sweetness blest. 

Yes, work is productive; idleness is waste; 
labor is noble; indolence, disgrace; and he who 
goes through life consuming the products of 
others' labors and giving nothing in return, is a 
purloiner of the fruits of other men's toil and 
must, in the final day of judgment, stand be- 
fore his God with the crime of embezzlement 
resting upon him. 

Therefore, to be a good citizen and a useful 
man, one must be a working man; there is no 
honor for a drone. Hereditary titles of nobil- 

54 



ity are as inert, void and worthless, as the 
shadow of a substance. And inherited wealth, 
when ignobly used for the gratification of self, 
indolence, luxury and false pride, is like ''The 
fragrance of the rose that is wasted upon the 
desert air." 

Yea, more: it is both a misfortune and a 
crime; it shackles the energy, benumbs the 
conscience and promotes the vanity of the re- 
cipient, and robs society of the laudable dues 
of one of its members; while such vain titles 
of nobility are no more to be compared to that 
real true nobility which springs from the suc- 
cessful achievement of labor, than is the paint- 
ed picture of an apple comparable to the gen- 
uine luscious fruit of the tree. Nor is that 
false pride in the possession of inherited wealth 
any more like the honest pride that comes from 
a self-earned competency of individual inde- 
pendence, than is the meanest brass to finest gold. 

Be therefore encouraged, my brother of labor 
and toil, — be not cast down nor in shame bow 
your head, because that in the sweat of thy 
brow thou must earn thy bread. But cheer up, 
and bravely look fate in the face, remembering 
that in labor there is no disgrace. And that 
he who stands before the forge and hammers 
the iron when it's hot, and shapes it to some 
useful end, is just as much a man and patriot 
as he who wields the victor's sword, or dips his 
fluent flaming pen in rainbow hues to paint the 
passions of the soul, and give to worth its 
rightful dues. Yes, he who "Drives the ox and 
guides the plough, or shapes the stone, or 

55 



delves in mine, but obeys the dictates of his 
God, for all good works must be divine." 

Let kings then wear their puerile crowns 
And lordlings don their coronets; 

But the only crown by God revered 
On labor's brow forever sets. 

Yet think not, ye of calloused hands and 
biceps hard and strong, that all the glory of the 
world should to yourselves belong; for there 
are those who nobly toil, tho' not with brawny 
arms: 'tis they who bum the midnight oil, 
worshipers at the Muse's shrine and providing 
earth its sweetest charms. 

These are the poets, orators, sculptors, paint- 
ers, philosophers, inventors, composers, wits, 
sages and statesmen. 

They, too, are all true toilers and work as 
hard as do the "hewers of wood and drawers of 
water," and are workmen worthy of the wages 
which they receive. 

Yes, these are they who have tarried long at 
the shrines of the Daughters of Zeus; who have 
drank deeply from the springs of Pieria and 
Castalia, and who by long and toilsome climb- 
ing have reached the heaven-kissed heights of 
Helicon and Parnassus, and there from Apollo 
and the Muses obtained the inspiration that 
men call genius: but which is indeed but the 
wisdom given in reward for their labor, and it 
is from the richness of these rewards that earth 
has been blest with the achievements of science, 
the triumphs of art, the melody of music, the 
glory of literature, and all the embellishments 
of ancient and modem civilization. 

56 



Dreantiitds of tbe Past 

Oh! give me the pleasures of dreaming again 

The dreams that I used to dream, 
When I was young and my heart was pure 

And my soul was all agleam; 
With a faith so bright that every star 

In the deep cerulean sky, 
Seemed a lamp held out by angel hands 

And Heaven seemed oh! so nigh. 

Yes, let me yet dream ever o'er and o'er 

The dreams of my boyhood days, 
When the future was filled with promises bright 

And I sang sweet roundelays; 
Whilst visions sweet of dark brown curls 

And eyes of heavenly blue, 
Made me forget all worlds above 

For a heaven on earth so true. 

Fair still are the dreams of a still later day, 

Of manhood's budding and bloom, 
When donning the ''gray" I shouldered my gun, 

While war clouds lowered in gloom; 
When ambition was strong and the star of hope 

Shone bright like a beacon of flame, 
Alluring me on with promises fair 

Of distinction, of glory and fame. 



57 



Yea, sweet are those dreams evanescent and fair, 

Like rainbows that follow the rain 
So gorgeously bright, so transiently fleet. 

So glorious but oh! so vain; 
Then say me not nay to dream as I may, 

Those old dreams o'er and o'er, 
They bring me surcease from trouble and care 

And warm my old heart to its core. 

A burden of years weighs heavily now. 

My shadow leans long to the east, 
The phantoms of hope, so ardently chased, 

I have never attained in the least; 
My gaze once fixed on the future so fair, 

Is now turned back to the past, 
And dreaming I sit and ponder in vain 

What my fate will be at the last. 

The stars are less bright than they used to be 

And Heaven seems farther away. 
The girl that I loved with dark brown curls 

Has gone to her sleep for aye; 
My jacket of gray, moth-eaten and torn. 

Lies faded and hidden from sight, 
And the flag that I followed was lost in defeat 

For right was not proof against might. 

And alone, all alone, I am dreaming by night, 

And alone I am dreaming by day, 
The past is all that is left to me now. 

Since faith has withered away; 
The present is filled with doubts and distrust, 

The future its secret must keep, . 
Whether death indeed is renewal of life 

Or only an endless sleep. 

58 



Co One Over the $ea$ 

Time's withering blight is plainly seen 

Upon your dear old mother now, 
The once jet curls are almost white 

Which droop upon her furrowed brow; 
Her lovelit eyes have lost their glow 

The rosy bloom has left her cheek, 
Her once sprite steps are getting slow 

Her gentle voice is growing weak. 

And yet withal, her gentle heart 

A font of love yet overflows, 
Her hands long trained to mercy's calls 

No change of time yet seeming knows; 
Her tongue to gentle words subdued 

In kindly tones is still the same. 
Her soul like drifting snow is pure 

As whence from Heaven first it came. 

No blighting cares have seared her heart 

Nor hardships changed her gentle mien, 
Of sorrows she has had her part 

But on her face no trace is seen; 
With faith in God to duty true 

O'er life's long, hard and rugged road 
She has walked with smiles serene. 

Her cares and griefs a heavy load. 



59 



But nearing now her journey's end, 

She seems to me an angel queen, 
More lovely, sweet, more fair and dear 

Than she before has ever been; 
And oh I I pray, sincerely pray. 

That she may never leave my side 
Till God is pleased to call us both 

To dwell beyond the Great Divide. 

But till that day, let come what may, 

I'll bravely face all frowns of fate 
And with her hand clasped firm in mine 

I'll scorn all cares that on me wait; 
And in content abiding time 

Discarding thoughts of future woe, 
1*11 face my lot whate'er it be. 

No matter how the world may go. 

Nor will I e'en repine at Fate 

Tho' foreordained a luckless wight, 
I'll be no deader when I'm dead 

Than those of greater wealth and might; 
And should there come as we are told 

A final resurrection mom, 
I'll bet I'll be awake and up 

Before old Gabriel toots his horn. 

Then some of those old priests and popes, 

And piety peddling foxy chaps. 
Who dose us up with doleful dope. 

Will wake and be surprised perhaps 
To see me there with many more 

Who never took their silly hooks 
Like suckers are supposed to do 

When baited with their holy books. 

60 



For though I have no appetite 

For papal bulls and Bible tales, 
And cannot always swallow down 

Like Jonah did — that school of whales- 
The yams that preachers spin for me, 

Yet still my faith abideth strong 
That those who go through earth aright 

Beyond the grave will not go wrong. 

Hence, when on resurrection day, 

Those priests and croakers then arise 
And all begin to look around 

For means by which to reach the skies- 
To only find a parachute 

Provided for their place to gain, 
May be surprised to see me there 

With a double-seated aeroplane. 

And when they see me take my seat 

With your dear mother by my side, 
Let off the brake and toot the horn 

And bounding upward swiftly glide — 
Will wish they too, had aeroplanes. 

Instead of falling parachute 
So they like we might upward fly 

And would not have to shoot the chute. 

But don't imagine, Irma dear. 

When you read these wretched rh3nnes, 
That your old mother dear and I 

Are about to hark to other climes, 
For we are here in first rate health 

Without a care, an ache or pain — 
Except a longing in our hearts 

To see you and Allen home again. 

61 



Cbe Spirit of Pride 

Laudable pride in man or woman is the pri- 
mal germ of all true nobility. 

It is that heavenly exotic transplanted by 
God in the human heart, whose blossom ex- 
hales an exhilarating spirit of self-conscious 
rectitude in all acts of well doing. It stimu- 
lates dormant ambition and awakens the sub- 
conscious soul to a recognition of its God-like 
nature. 

Pride is the twin spirit of faith, which pilots 
the way in the attainment of all things which 
are the cravings of hope. It is the mighty ful- 
crum of the heart upon which the lever of will- 
power is used by the hand of Deity to elevate 
man's instinct from the low place of the brute 
to the exalted heights of self-esteem. But it is 
as unlike base vanity as the sunlit dome of a 
holy temple is unlike the darkness brooding in 
Herculanean cellars. 

Pride goes forth clothed in the habiliments 
of labor, love and self-sacrifice, bright as the 
morning's sun, and glory gilds its every path. 
It is like nature's law, the grand dynamic force 
of all progress in skill, science and art. It 
lends courage and endurance to labor, nerves 
the strong arm of the warrior, guides and di- 
rects the hand of the artisan, adds genius to 
the inventor's efforts and inspires the pen of the 
poet. It is the one supreme factor of every 
success and the undisputed source of all prog- 
ress, the glorifying instinct of righteous self- 
exaltation by laudable means and methods of 
mind and muscle. 

62 



But forget not, O man and shadow, that sor- 
did selfish esteem and brazen vanity is no more 
like true pride, than the howlings of a hyena are 
like the sweet song of a seraph. 

Personal vanity is the emptiness of a beggar's 
dream, the froth and foam of ignorance and 
egotism, the contemptible ebullition of self- 
conceit. But true pride is the indigenous out- 
growth of conscious worth and merit of excel- 
lence in human advancement. It is the mag- 
netic needle of honor; the cloud by day and the 
pillar of fire by night that guides the march 
of civilization, and like the beautiful bow of 
promise that comes after the storm, it is for- 
ever the high arch of human triumph that 
spans the horizon of every himian prospect, and 
hope of progress, and is God's own benediction 
in the hearts of all who have not lived and 
labored in vain. 



Cine$ Tor Coitfederate memorial Day 
Jlpril 26tb 

Once more on cycling wings of time 

Returns again this April day. 
Made sacred now and set apart 

For honoring those who wore the gray; 
Who swept with giant strides apace 

Through fields of blood and battle-flame 
And left a glorious record bright 

To gild the utmost heights of fame. 

63 . 



What tho' their many victories won 

Were lost at last in grim defeat? 
The records of their deeds sublime 

Survive for us in memories sweet; 
Yes, though their flag lies furled from sight, 

Their gallant swords now turned to rust, 
Thank God, the truth we but proclaim 

When we assert their cause was just. 

No matter that the lightning's might 

May crush yon temple to the sod, 
And bum its sacred altars down: 

Know this for all, the living God 
Permits such things but to confound 

The wisdom that would probe His will, 
And while we mourn our fallen flag 

We must remain submissive still. 

Yes, He the Great Jehovah wise. 

Who orders all things for the best, 
May have but let our banner fall 

Our loyalty to race to test, 
And passed us through the flames of war 

To weld anew the binding chain 
Of this our Union great and strong 

That it might ne'er be rent in twain. 

But view that matter as we may 

This much we know: our comrades true 
Were instruments in hands of God 

As were the men who wore the blue, 
In shaping out that destiny 

Which God has for this country planned 
To be for aye the brightest star 

In galaxy of nations grand. 

64 



Nor will the great chivalric heart 

Of this our Southland ever true 
Withhold the tribute of respect 

To graves of those who wore the blue. 
For they, too, were Americans, 

And whether wrong or whether right 
The Auroras of eternal fame 

Their Northern skies will ever light. 

But high above and over all 

Where Glory guards her proudest shrine, 
Where gods prostrate in worship fall 

And stars of fame resplendent shine, 
Go read you there the brightest names 

Of all earth's lustrous heroes grand 
And you will there but read the roll 

Of heroes of this Southern land. 

First see yon God-set Polar star, 

Eternal type of constancy, 
Unchanging, fixed, forever true 

As God would have men's conscience be, 
And grand old Davis's star of fame 

Scarce less resplendent in its glow 
For faithful constancy and truth 

Will shine while earth shall roll below. 

And when on heaven's glittering dome 

I cast my ever wistful gaze, 
Where worlds on worlds resplendent roll 

And stellar constellations blaze, 
Another orb of light I see. 

Bright, shining Mars with flaming stole, 
And view the source whence came the fire 

That blazed in Stonewall Jackson's souL 

65 



Old Neptune too, I there behold 

Sailing through a sea of light, 
Proud Admiral of astral fleets. 

Of heavenly constellations bright; 
And oh I I feel my soul expand 

With pride, as memory wakes again 
Recalling deeds heroic, grand. 

When Semmes was King and ruled the Main. 

And see in vaulted dome of night 

The star-gemmed, wondrous Milky Way, 
A heavenly type and simile 

Of legions of Confederate Gray 
Which formed a glorious martial line 

Across the Southern border zone, 
The grandest army in its day 

That this old world has ever known. 

And could I now from heaven's dome 

A bright star pluck for every name 
Of those who 'neath the Stars and Bars 

Proved worthy of immortal fame, 
A hundred thousand I would grasp 

Of heaven's most resplendent lights 
To place upon the hallowed tombs 

Of those who died for Southern rights. 

But not for grand old Robert Lee 

Aught would I claim to gild his name. 
For like yon sun, bright orb of day 

That burns with never-ceasing flame. 
So will his name and spotless fame 

Shine on and on with glory bright 
Till suns and worlds have run their course 

And earth is wrapped in endless night. 

66 



Till then, till then, Almighty God, 

Thou God in whom all nations trust, 
With reverence we would Thee entreat 

To guard and shield their sacred dust, 
Till that great resurrection day 

When Gabriel's trump from out the skies 
Shall bid the dead of all the world 

To wake and from their sleep arise. 

And wilt thou then, O gracious God! 

Grant everlasting life anew 
To all who wore the Southern gray 

And all that wore their country's blue. 
And stretching forth Thy mighty arm 

Lift up to Thee in Heaven on high 
And give to each as pension due 

A mansion bright within the sky. 



Cbe name of lHotbcr 

How sacred and holy is the name of Mother! 
Dearest of all names, sweetest of all words. It 
is the most precious and peerless gem in the 
casket of human speech, without which the 
vocabulary of the world would be lustreless, 
gross and imperfect. 

It is the one brightest star in the firmament 
of human language around which cluster and 
revolve all other ennobling words; whose glori- 
fied lights are those of human kindness, tender- 
ness, sympathy and enduring constancy. 

67 



Oh, name of Mother! More sweet is the 
sound than the most melodious musical note 
that was ever struck from harp of gold, by- 
angers hand. More precious to the ear and 
soothing to the heart than ever warbled note 
in seraph's song. 

Oh, blessed, precious name of mother — hallow- 
ed word, carved by Jehovah's hand on every 
human heart to sweeten the voice that breathes 
the name. Unstinted reverence is its rightful 
due, all honor bows to it as to a sacred shrine, 
and chivalry forever stands guard to shield it 
from reproach. Love, purity, fidelity, God's 
own brightest jewels, garnish it as the bright 
dew-drops of heaven embellish the white 
petals of the morning rose. 

Oh, beautiful name of mother! the first from 
innocent infant tongues to fall, most often ut- 
tered in childhood's happy years, most revered 
in the adolescence of mature manhood, in 
memory most sacredly held in the years of de- 
clining dotage and senile decrepitude. Word 
of all words, name of all names, eternal with 
clustering glories crowned, it is the center and 
soul of gravity that binds all mankind in unity 
of devotion, and holds all hearts by the sweet- 
ness of its attraction. 

All the floral beauty of Eden's effulgent bow- 
ers are miraged in its virtuous adornment. 
Enchantment like a halo of heavenly light hov- 
ers ever about it in every age, and magical are 
the radiating influences of its subtle glories and 
pristine charms. 



68 



Sweet name of mother, fragrant with the 
odor of sanctity, synonym of strength in adver- 
sity, the polar star of all concentrated affec- 
tions, a sheet anchor of safety and hope of 
Heaven, a mainstay in every sorrow and ad- 
versity, we have but to breathe that name to 
hear the rustle of an angel's wing. 

Then listen now, all ye of woman bom, all 
ye living pensioners of God's bountiful mercy: 
to Jehovah lift up your souls in thanks and 
sing praises for the name of Mother. 

"That sweetest name on mortal tongue, 
That sweetest name by mortals sung, 
That sweetest name to mortals given, 
The sweetest name in earth or Heaven." 



Reacbers and Creatures 

When we take a retrospect of the past and 
study the achievements of the world, we must 
feel impressed with the fact that mankind is 
made up of two classes : Reachers and Creatures. 

In the first class we find the workers, invent- 
ors, explorers, writers, developers, and great 
thinkers, who furnish the motive force that 
moves the progressive world and makes of earth 
a fitting habitat for civilized beings. They are 
the Reachers, who, wanting something, reach 
out and get it. 

In the latter class we find the drones, critics, 
loafers, and complainers, whose lives are spent 

69 



in preaching what others ought to do, finding 
fault with fortune, but in the main doing noth- 
ing helpful to others or to themselves. They 
are merely Creatures. - 

A wag once mentioned to a neighbor that a 
certain well known man of a near by town had 
just died. The neighbor inquired, "Of what 
complaint?" The wag said, ''None at all; every- 
body seems perfectly satisfied." 

The deceased evidently was only a Creature. 
However, it takes many kinds of people to fill a 
world. I have known some people too stingy 
to give a man the itch; others too lazy to grunt 
when kicked by a mule; some so contrary they 
would float up stream if killed and thrown in 
the river; and there are thousands who are as 
selfish as leeches and as unsocial as clams. 
Then there are egotists so narrow-minded that 
a gimlet hole bored by their own hands looks 
to them to be as big as the Mount Cenis Tun- 
nel. And there are also the dudes and the du- 
dines, who if built in statue to fit their little 
souls, a thousand might dance at one time on 
the point of a cambric needle and never be in 
danger of falling off for lack of room. I men- 
tion these only as types of the creature class, 
things that hear, speak, see, walk and have the 
forms of human beings but are of such molecular 
worthlessness as to be unfitted for the notice or 
decent regard of real true men and women. 

But who are the Reachers and what are they? 
It is every man whose form bears the stamp 
and likeness of his Creator, whose soul is magni- 
fied by every honest effort of every day of la- 

70 



bor, by his every noble thought and honorable 
impulse. It is he who has felt the quickening 
touch of conscience and the warm glow of a 
noble ambition and in whose veins the genial cur- 
rents run warm with love and affection, whose 
soul is bright with faith in the promises of God 
who made him, and who feels that he has a 
mission on earth and a task to perform that 
will entitle him to the respect of his fellow-men 
and make him worthy of lifting his face to 
heaven and return thanks for having been bom 
a man. 

It is a woman whose guileless heart has never 
harbored malice, whose tongue has never been 
steeped in venom, whose mind is laden with 
thoughts of gentle kindness, whose soul is a 
fountain of purity and love, whose hands are 
ever open to deeds of charity, and whose feet 
are ever swift in their flight to succor those in 
distress. These fair types of men and women 
I would set up and present as my ideals of the 
genuine, true-blue Reachers, whose praises I 
am ever proud to proclaim. 

But I would not have anyone misconstrue or 
mistake my meaning, nor suppose for a moment 
that I find my ideals only in the educated, cul- 
tured and most favored classes of our people, 
for it is not always the most deserving who are 
found in the ranks of the most favored of for- 
tune. Nor is it true that those who seem to 
shine brightest are always the truest and best. 
It requires some crucial test of adversity or 
humbling call of duty to prove sincerity and 



71 



demonstrate the genuine her(5, the humble Sa- 
maritan, and the uncompromising Christian. 

Every man can be a hero when there is no 
cloud of danger, a good philanthropist when 
his purse is full and all his wants are supplied; 
and we can all practice the virtues of Chris- 
tianity when unbribed by want and untempted 
by passion. But as the rough diamond re- 
quires much hard rubbing to reveal its bril- 
liance and beauty, so it is true that great self- 
denial and sacrifice are necessary to bring out 
in bold relief the genuineness of real courage, 
true charity and absolute Christianity; for in 
the very groundwork of the great Jehovah it is 
ordained that there shall be no true nobility 
without labor, no virtue without temptation, and 
no reward without sacrifice. 

There are doubtless thousands of hearts beat- 
ing today beneath ragged coats which are as 
brave and callous to fear as was ever the heart 
of Ajax, who defied the lightning, or of Achilles 
in the tumult of battle; brave, faithful, honest 
laborers who are contentedly filling their useful 
spheres in life. They have cheerfully accepted 
their mission of providing the everyday necessi- 
ties of existence for themselves and for those 
whom God has given them to shelter, feed and 
clothe, and with no ambition beyond that which 
their daily labors supply, they constitute the 
main army of support upon whom all people 
must rely for subsistence, and from whom the 
greatest Reachers of the world have ever sprung. 

The common laboring element of the last 
generation supplied the great men of the present, 

72 



and from the pre^>V t generation of that class 
we must look for the coming geniuses of the 
next. Great men's sons seldom accompHsh any- 
thing great. Of this fact so lamentably true, I 
only make mention for the encouragement of 
those whom it may concern. Talents are rarely 
inherited; genius is seldom bequeathed, and an 
honored name is only honorable by its keeping. 
And I sincerely thank God that these state- 
ments are true, especially that it is true in 
America, where we have no endless hereditary 
entailment of estates, no transmission of titles 
and no birthright privileges of superior caste; a 
land where all men are bom equal, where merit 
is only accorded to those to whom merit is due; 
a land of Hberty and freedom abounding in 
thousands of golden opportunities for wealth, 
fame and honors, thickly spread out on every 
hand, which ever wait for the men of courage, 
brain and enterprise to reach out and seize 
them; where the very air is pregnant and vi- 
brant with opportunities beckoning him who 
has the hands and brain to reach out, grasp and 
coin them into fortune or mold them into crown 
of fame and wreaths of honor. Yes, yes, the 
great illimitable and unfathomable breadths and 
depths of eternal space are filled with the neb- 
ulae of shining ideas which God has prepared in 
ever inexhaustible oceans and seas of plenty 
and placed within the reach of those who think 
and are wilHng to reach. Glorious indeed is the 
age in which we live. 



73 



In ancient times the highest aim in training 
the youth was to teach him dexterity in wield- 
ing the sword and throwing the javeHn. 

Only in warfare was honorable distinction to 
be gained, and fame was won in the shedding 
of human blood. But not so now. Our great 
colleges, schools and institutes of learning are 
ever striving to inculcate lessons of morality, 
business, and human kindness. Patriotism and 
love of country are instilled in the minds of the 
young; and the example of Robert E. Lee, 
Stonewall Jackson and Joseph E. Johnston, who 
only fought for independence, liberty and in de- 
fense of their homes, is pointed out as a model, 
rather than Alexander the Great, Caesar or 
Napoleon, who waged war for conquest and power. 

And so it is with our young women, too, who 
only a few years ago were regarded in this 
Southland of ours as only fit for the education 
that qualified them for the art of dressing well, 
making their forms attractive, their faces fair 
and their manners beautiful, to the end that 
they might grace the parlor and the ballroom 
and to flit like butterflies in the gardens of soci- 
ety and to be beautiful creatures. Alas! only 
now and then did one of them, disdainful of the 
ignoble bonds of a frothy society, dare to break 
away from the giddy whirl of her social environ- 
ment, and giving vent to a noble ambition, 
launch forth into the realms of art, literature 
or other useful endeavor. Of a few such brave 
women, I recall the names of Mrs. E. D. E. 
Southworth, Caroline Le Hentz, Madam Levert, 
L. Virginia French, and our own Alabama 

74 



pride, Mrs. Augusta Evans Wilson. These and 
a few other names I might mention have, 
meteor-Hke, shot out and across the darkened 
horizon of our Southern Hterary sky, and made 
bright the noble firmament of our nation 
with the lustrous beauty and bright genius of 
Southern womanhood's intellectual brilliance. 
But they were only the pioneers in the field of 
woman's greater mission. 

Under the more enlightened and liberal con- 
ditions of today woman is coming to be recog- 
nized not only as man's social but as his men- 
tal equal and the broader avenues of greater 
usefulness are being thrown open to her and 
she is every day, by thousands, proving by her 
energy, capability and diligence in literature, 
art, science and commerce that she is worthy 
to occupy every domain wherein man has here- 
tofore alone been thought competent to reign. 
And oh! how I do love to see a pretty girl 
making music on a typewriter while she keeps 
time to her music with the jingle of dollars in 
her pocket, which her energy and independence 
have honestly earned. Yes, I love the indepen- 
dent working girls for they are Reachers, with 
the consciousness of individual self-support, and 
are not from necessity compelled to marry just 
any kind of a spider-legged dude or whiskey 
sucking son-of-a-gun who will promise to feed 
them for becoming their slaves, and who per- 
haps will soon desert them for the society of 
barroom bums, blatherskites, street-comer loaf- 
ers and poolroom pinchbeck gentlemen of ha- 
bitual leisure. 



75 



Cbe Cast of all of l>l$ Comrades to fall'' 

The following lines were read on the occa- 
sion of the unveiling of a monument to his 
memory on the spot where he fell : 

He was the last of all his comrades to fall 
In the dark storm of war now ending, 

And in gloomy retreat, he perchance saw defeat 
For the flag he'd been bravely defending. 

All his duties well done, and war's honors won, 
Fate kindly ordained he should die, 

For his soul was too great to brook the defeat 
Which was then so ominously nigh. 

So 'tis well, it is well, he should sleep where he fell, 
Where his life's blood hath hallowed the sod; 

Yes, there let him rest, with his sword on his 
breast. 
Till awakened and called by his God. 

Though in vain, all in vain, he sought to main- 
tain, 
Those ideals his Southland so cherished, 
We will honor his name and embellish his fame, 
Till all love from this world shall have per- 
ished. 

In his uniform gray, 'neath the blood-reddened 
clay. 

Where opposing the despots he died, 
In peace let him rest, by his countrymen blest, 

Till on high he is called to abide. 

♦Lieutenant Andrew Jackson, a native of Tennessee, was killed in 
skirmish at Munford, Ala., about sunrise on Sunday, April 23rd, 1865, 
and was buried on the spot where he fell, near the Methodist Church. 

76 



Never tongue will deny, that for martyrs who die, 
In a cause that is sacred and right, 

A welcome awaits at the heavenly gates, 
To homes of eternal dehght. 

And this martyred brave who sleeps in his 
grave, 

Consecrated with his own life's blood. 
Will receive the reward that is promised of God 

For all the unselfish and good. 

Till then, till then, far removed from the din 
Of all this world's troubles and blight, 

Let the mocking bird's lay be his requiem by 
day 
And the stars keep his vigil by night. 

But this stone we erect with profoundest re- 
spect 
To his honor and courage sublime, 
And inscribing his name, we'll commit him to 
fame. 
As worthy to live through all time. 

Now with "Peace to his dust," let us fervently 
trust 
That on high in a far better world, 
'Neath the loved Stars and Bars, the God of 
^ all wars 
Will greet him with that flag unfurled. 

August 28, 1914. 



77 



I 



OCT "4 194S 



